


A Failure of Words

by chuusei_teki_na_koe



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Aftercare, Angst, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Choking, Communication Failure, Gags, Hair-pulling, M/M, Mild Royal Spoilers, No Lube, Past Sexual Abuse, Possibly Consent Issues?, Rape Roleplay, Sexual Roleplay, Spanking, Violent Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-10
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:00:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24635734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chuusei_teki_na_koe/pseuds/chuusei_teki_na_koe
Summary: It's kind of hard to figure out what Akechi wants when he'll never say a word about it.And they're just fucking, anyway. Akira doesn't have a right to ask, and it's not like Akechi would answer if he did say anything.
Relationships: Akechi Goro/Kurusu Akira, Past Shido/Akechi
Comments: 25
Kudos: 182





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I was just gonna write misery, but then I read some quite brutal shiake and I decided I needed a happy ending (which there will be in part 2). Can I say there's a weird lack of “Pego comforts Akechi over sexual abuse from Shido with healing cock” in this fandom? I swear, this is the sort of thing that would have come standard in any fandom ten-fifteen years ago, but this fandom is all scared shitless about papaake.
> 
> Be the change you want to see in the world, I guess.
> 
> Anyway, as for the “consent issues” in this fic, it's basically like, Akechi not quite fully informing Akira of what he's getting into, and Akira is not happy about it. Not really sure if that counts, idk, gray zone of poor communication and bad bdsm practices, I stuck it in.

Akira wasn't sure quite what this was.

Akechi had him pressed up against the wall of Leblanc, grinding into him aggressively. His fingers were tight on Akira's hips, his teeth buried in the flesh of Akira's neck.

This wasn't the first time they had done this.

After their fight in Mementos, before Akira's arrest, Akechi had been like he was possessed. He'd forced Akira to his knees in the muck of the Metaverse and made him suck him off right there. Akira had been surprised—after dancing around it for how many months, he was suddenly pretty direct. Maybe asking him to fight had just been an excuse to get him alone like this, or maybe the fight had gotten him worked up, or maybe just losing in one arena made him want to assert his dominance in another, Akira didn't know, but he was all too willing to get down on his knees and get his mouth around Akechi's cock, even knowing that this was the guy who was planning to put a bullet between his eyes in a matter of weeks.

Akechi had grabbed him by the hair and fucked his face with a force at odds with his mild demeanor, saying, _you like that, you slut?_ and other things Akira couldn't really remember in the heat of the moment. It had seemed jarring then, but knowing what he was really like now, at least there was a consistency to it.

“...Let me close the cafe, at least,” Akira finally managed to say when Akechi released him, and Akechi backed off for a minute so Akira could lock the door and flip the sign, then without giving Akira another minute, he practically dragged him upstairs and threw him onto the bed, tossing his winter jacket carelessly onto the floor before coming onto the bed to straddle him.

Akechi went straight for Akira's belt, but at this point, Akira was feeling a bit miffed at Akechi's attitude, like he could do whatever he wanted, and he yanked Akechi down by his uniform tie. Choked, Akechi was caught by surprise, and Akira took advantage to grab him by the belt and flip them over. With Akechi's legs flung over his knees, Akira kept the tie taut with one hand as he pinned Akechi's shoulder with the other—not actually cutting off his air, just threatening it, making him feel a bit of a squeeze.

He kind of assumed Akechi would fight it—and honestly, he didn't mind if Akechi fucked him in the mattress, was expecting that, really—but Akechi just let his head fall back, pulling the tie tighter around his neck, as his gloved hands grabbed the shoulders of Akira's turtleneck.

“Oh, you like that, huh?” Akira said with a grin as his free hand traveled down to rub over Akechi's bulging crotch. Akechi bucked up against his hand, shamelessly grinding against it while he pulled back against the tie, cutting off his own air. Akira squeezed his cock in response, leaning his own crotch into Akechi's ass as Akechi rutted against his hand. Akira released the pressure on the tie a moment to let Akechi gasp for air, then yanked it tight again, feeling Akechi's balls tighten under his hand as he did.

Akechi made a choked noise, arching up, and then he came hard and fast in his pants. When Akira released the tie, Akechi yanked him forward by his turtleneck, burying his face in Akira's chest as he gasped helplessly. Akira just let him catch his breath, shifting over him so he could lean on his hands on the bed.

They didn't talk about it.

They kept doing it, of course, but they didn't talk about it.

Akira kind of fumbled around, learning what Akechi liked. He liked having his hair pulled, he liked being choked, he liked being fucked roughly and talked down to. He liked to put up a struggle at first and then be put in his place.

Akira was only to happy to oblige, but when their clothes were on again, he could never say a word about it. He'd open his mouth and look at Akechi, and the glare on Akechi's face was enough to shut him up. If he ever told anyone else about this, Akechi would probably murder him in his sleep.

But that was fine. Akira was addicted to the smell of him, the way he whimpered when you hurt him, the way his ass clenched when you pulled his hair, the way he bit his hand to keep from making too much noise.

Akira knew there were things more important he should be focusing on, besides fucking Akechi every chance he had, but he was in too deep to stop.

And now Akira had Akechi bent over his desk at Akechi's apartment. Akechi's pants were on the floor halfway across the room and Akira had three fingers up Akechi's ass, rubbing up against his prostate and jerking his cock with his other hand. This had started when Akechi had brought out a pair of handcuffs, and without a word, had cuffed himself and leaned over the desk, giving Akira full reign to do—something.

At this point, though, Akira kind of wanted some direction. He wanted to give Akechi what he wanted, but he didn't want to go too far, and Akechi didn't want to talk about it, and Akira didn't like to push. But he figured that maybe wanting to cum would make Akechi a little more talkative, and so worked him up until he was good and hard before he opened his mouth.

Akira licked his lips, feeling weirdly nervous. “You want me to hurt you?” he said, slowing down his hands to a torturous stroke.

Akechi just let out a breath against the desk, face turned so Akira couldn't see it.

Akira sighed. Not an unexpected reaction.

Well. He just had to make use of his position. He squeezed one hand too-tight around Akechi's cock, palming the tip in the way he knew Akechi hated. “Answer me when I ask you a question.”

“...Yes, sir,” Akechi said, and he sounded choked.

Well. This was getting somewhere.

“Do you want me to hurt you?” Akira repeated.

Akechi's bare fingers tightened against the edge of the desk, and the cuffs over his head clinked. He kept his forehead pressed against the wood of the desk. He was silent for a while, and Akira thought he might not answer. But then he said, “...Punish me,” his voice barely above a whisper.

“How.”

Another long silence. Akira just waited.

“...Spank me. For my failure. Tell me I deserve it. Then fuck me. Don't even touch my dick.”

This seemed almost mild, compared to some of the stuff they'd done, so Akira was mildly frustrated that it had taken this long to wring it out of him. Pulling his fingers out of Akechi's ass and away from his dick, he wiped his hands with a tissue off the desk. Then he grabbed Akechi's hip with one hand, and wound up with the other for a hard smack.

The first one made Akechi jump, but after that, he was dead silent, fingers clenched over the edge of the desk as Akira beat his ass until both cheeks were bright red and his own hand stung. He thought up the words carefully before saying them out loud. He wasn't sure if this was what Akechi wanted, but he hoped it would be in the ballpark. He kept it as vague as possible. He wasn't sure what Akechi wanted to be punished for—wasn't sure he wanted to know. Maybe it didn't matter.

“You knew this was coming.” Akechi didn't respond, so Akira just kept going. “I _asked_ you to do something. I was counting on you. And what happened?”

Akechi just made a choked sound as Akira hit him with a particularly loud slap.

“You failed me. _Again._ You knew this was going to happen.”

“I'm sorry, sir,” Akechi mumbled against the desk.

“Apologies aren't going to cut it.” Akira smacked him again, and Akechi's cock twitched between his legs. His erection had sagged at first during the spanking, but this dirty talk seemed to be doing it for him. “How are you going to satisfy me, now?”

“...I'm sorry, sir,” Akechi repeated again, almost too quiet to hear.

“Didn't I just tell you not to apologize? You can't even listen to a basic order?” Akira grabbed Akechi's raw cheeks in both hands, squeezing, and Akechi yelped, jerking back into his hands.

“Stay still,” Akira barked. “Can't you even stand there and take your punishment like a man? Or do I have to fuck you like a bitch?”

Akechi went still and quiet, the only thing moving his heaving shoulders. Akira took that as a sign to continue. He wound up for one last smack on Akechi's abused ass before he undid his own pants and rubbed himself to full hardness, grabbing the lube from Akechi's desk drawer. It was kind of hard for him to get off on this when Akechi wasn't showing his face or really making much of any noise, though it was nice to see him getting hard now. This had basically all been for Akechi's benefit.

“At least there's one thing you're good for,” Akira said as he pressed the tip of his cock against Akechi's pink hole, sinking in all at once. Akechi full-body twitched in reaction, ass tightening around Akira's cock.

“Even after all that, your ass is still so tight,” Akira muttered as he drew back all the way to slam in up to the hilt, and this time, Akechi moaned against the desk. “You just love my cock, huh? I guess this is the one thing you can't fuck up.”

Akira fucked him harder than he would have wanted himself—he wasn't even sure he'd be able to cum, abusing his own dick like this. Sometimes, Akechi's ass was so tight it was uncomfortable, and this was one of those times. Tension was clear in every line of Akechi's body, from his ass up his torso to the strained tendons in his neck. He was pressing his head into the desk hard, hiding his face with his arms as he started to whimper under the assault on his ass. Every thrust had to hurt, smacking against the raw skin, but at this point, his cock was at full mast, dripping with precum underneath him.

Akechi's hole made wet smacking sounds as Akira fucked mercilessly into him, digging his thumbs into the red cheeks in front of him, but Akechi himself barely made a sound, just staying stock-still and taking it the whole time. It kind of drove Akira crazy. He wanted to see Akechi's face, to know he felt good.

Impulsively, Akira grabbed Akechi by the hair, pulling his head back as he continued to pound Akechi's ass. Akechi just let it happen, back arching as Akira wrenched his head around to see. His eyes were closed, and there was blood coming off his lip where he was biting into it. It was like he was lost in other world, not even aware of anything but the sensations in his body.

That went straight to Akira's cock. But he wanted to hear Akechi moan. He wanted to hear him scream his name and beg to get fucked harder. He grabbed Akechi by the jaw and squeezed the sides of his face, forcing his mouth open as he pressed his hips flush against Akechi's ass, rolling against him.

Akechi moaned low, and Akira thrust into him again, smacking him with his other hand again as he worked his cock in and out of Akechi's spasming hole. Akechi cried out, and Akira smacked him again, and again, and each time, the sounds Akechi made got more pathetic and more desperate.

“Please, please please...” Akechi started to mutter under his breath, legs trembling as if he could barely keep himself standing. Akira didn't even know how to answer that, he just kept going. When Akechi's ass was clenching like he was about to cum, he tightened his grip on Akechi's hair until he knew it would hurt like hell, pulling it back all the way, his other hand bruising on Akechi's hip, forcing himself in as Akechi was practically pushing him out.

Akechi's neck was bared in front of him, his mouth open as his hips jerked, spurting once, twice onto the side of the desk and the floor. He whimpered, muttering almost incoherently as Akira continued to fuck him through it, not slowing down for even a second. It took Akira a long moment to realize what he was saying. 

“I'll be good...I'll be good...Shido...”

Akira's breath caught.

He released his grip on Akechi's hair, and Akechi slumped down onto the desk, panting. Akira's hand dropped off Akechi's hip. It was only shaking a little, and he squeezed it in a fist to still it. He was frustratingly close to orgasm, but he'd lost any desire to continue.

Akira dropped his face to Akechi's back for a moment, taking a deep breath in, then out, forcing his racing heart to still. Then he straightened up and pulled out, grabbing a handful of tissues from the box off the desk to wipe himself off, tucking his still-hard cock back into his pants. He looked at Akechi. He was still leaning against the desk, catching his breath. With anyone else, Akira would have at least offered to clean them up, but the last time he'd tried, Akechi had practically bitten his head off, so he didn't. He just stood there, concentrating on other things to make his erection fade, and waited for Akechi to be ready.

Eventually, Akechi pushed himself off the desk and undid the cuffs himself. They weren't the sort that would actually hold him—Akira sort of doubted he'd ever go for something like that. Did Akechi trust him that far? Probably not. Then Akechi got himself a tissue and wiped his dick and the lube off his ass, meticulously getting the spurt of cum on the floor before he headed over to get his pants without another word.

Akira shoved his hands in his pockets and gnawed at his lip. “We're not gonna talk about—”

“Shut up.”

Yeah, he'd expected that.

Akira wasn't quite sure what to say. He just glared at Akechi as he pulled his pants back on, but Akechi was turned away from him.

“You expect me to just say nothing?” Akira said, finally.

Akechi turned around to face him, and his face was now schooled carefully neutral, blank of everything that had been written on it only moments earlier. “It's not like you're usually very talkative.”

Various responses ran through Akira's head, and he discarded all of them. The reason he didn't say much was because he was always trying to think of the right thing to say. And with Akechi, there was never a good option. Every single answer provoked the same responses.

— _Are you okay?_

None of your goddamn business.

— _You never considered informing me that we were actually roleplaying your_ father _fucking you?_

None of your goddamn business.

— _I'll listen, if you want to talk._

It's none of your goddamn business.

Maybe it was Akira's fault for not figuring it out. He knew Akechi had been through some shit, he just didn't know exactly what kind of shit, and he didn't even know how to begin asking when Akechi was like a brick wall. It wasn't like they had the kind of relationship where Akira could ask.

And maybe part of Akira had always been holding back, too. As much as Akechi didn't trust him, Akira didn't trust Akechi, either. He never had. He would have been stupid to trust him. Were things different now?

He wanted to believe they were. But maybe he was just being naive.

And thinking back, maybe Akira had just been being dumb and wilfully ignorant about it. Akechi had straight-up said he wanted to get punished for failure while getting fucked over a desk by what one presumed was an authority figure. Maybe Akira should have put two and two together.

_Punished for what, failing to kill me?_

Left with no good options, Akira picked the stupid option.

“It's not like you'll tell me anything if I ask,” he said, bitterly.

“Well, it's none of your business,” Akechi said.

Akira actually laughed that he'd been so on the nose, and once he started, he kind of couldn't stop. He just brought a hand to his mouth, giggling helplessly.

Akechi looked a little startled. “What?”

Akira finally calmed his laughing, wiping the corners of his eyes. “It's just kind of funny. I knew you were going to say that.” He shook his head. He hated how bitter he sounded. Usually be was better at keeping control than this. He had to bail before he said something he would regret. He headed over to the kitchen table, where he'd dumped his jacket and bag, and grabbed them, heading for the door.

“Done already? You didn't even cum, though,” Akechi said idly, crossing his arms over his chest as he watched Akira get his shoes on.

“I'm not in the mood.”

“That's all it takes to turn you off, huh.”

Akira turned around to see Akechi's face twisted bitterly, his head turned aside to look at the wall.

Of course he was gonna take it like that. Akira might as well have said something like, _yeah, I'm not interested in used goods,_ or _I should have known you were broken,_ because Akechi would take anything he said like that, anyway. It was like he was waiting for a rejection every single day, constantly bracing for a strike. He wouldn't let Akira offer anything else.

How to respond to this? He ran through the options in his head again. Still nothing good. Every single thing he said would hurt Akechi, no matter what, would make Akechi push him away. He could never win. He'd been pretty fucking dumb to think things would be any different now.

“Yeah, you calling Shido Masayoshi's name while we fuck is a pretty big turn-off.”

“Sorry to be a bonerkill,” Akechi snarled.

“Sorry I'm not willing to roleplay as your rapist and a man who tried to have me killed.”

“Is that what you think?” Akechi said, still looking at the wall, and Akira noticed his hands were tight on his folded arms. “God, you really do fucking pity me.”

“I don't pity you—”

“You think I didn't want it? I begged for his cock and loved every fucking minute of it.” Akechi turned on him, glaring at him with wild eyes and the kind of twisted expression that reminded Akira of when he used Loki to drive himself berserk.

Akira just stood in the doorway with his bag hanging limply from one hand, staring back at him, not knowing what to say. How old had Akechi been when it started? Was there anyone who believed that an encounter like that could possibly be consensual? Did Akechi even believe this himself?

“...You don't have to lie to me about this,” Akira said softly. “I'm not going to—”

But that was the wrong thing to say. Everything was the wrong thing to say.

“Just get out,” Akechi spat. “I knew you wouldn't understand. Just get out!” And he shoved Akira out the door without giving him a chance to say anything else.

When the door slammed behind him, Akira just stood there for a moment, trying to collect himself. He pulled out his phone so he could pretend like he was doing something, but he wasn't looking at it. He just kept flashing back to Akechi's face as he muttered Shido's name. Everything Akira had said while they fucked suddenly felt disgusting in his mouth, and he wanted to spit. He couldn't stop imagining Shido fucking Akechi over his desk, just like Akira just had. He imagined Akechi hiding his face like that, biting his lip like that, freezing up and tensing just to take it like that.

The most disgusting part was that thinking about it was kind of getting him turned on again.

Akira took the elevator down to the lobby, stepped outside the apartment, stood there for a while, wondering if he was going to puke, but he didn't.

He looked at his phone, at his message history with Akechi. All business, plus quick messages to meet for hook-ups. They never talked about anything else.

Akira started typing something, stared at it, then deleted it.

“...Fuck,” he muttered, and left with no other choice, he turned to head home.


	2. Chapter 2

Akira sent him a text message inviting him to the jazz club a couple nights later, fully expecting to be angrily shot down, but Akechi said yes. He left Akira on read and didn't reply to the message until hours later, at like 2AM, but he said yes. Every time he started thinking he had a handle on Akechi, he pulled something else that surprised him like this.

He hadn't actually gone out anywhere non-Phantom Thief-related with Akechi since New Year's, though they'd come here a handful of times before. And a large part of that was, Akira would admit to himself guiltily, because he was thinking with his dick. Even just sitting here at a table with Akechi, he couldn't help but stare at the corner of a bite mark on his neck that only occasionally peeked out of his collar when he turned a certain way. Even Akechi's lips on his glass just reminded Akira of his lips around his cock.

Akira pushed up his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose. He should have beat off before coming here, clearly.

They talked business for a while, palaces and Mementos. Somehow, that was all they talked about, lately. Akira kind of missed the way things had been before, but maybe Akechi didn't miss it. Maybe to him, that had all been fake. How much of that had meant something to him? Did he actually like billiards at all, or had he just wanted the chance to show up Akira at something? Or had that all just been about snooping in one him, digging up info on the Phantom Thieves?

Looking at his glass, Akira remembered why all they did was fuck when they met up. It was a hell of a lot easier than talking about this stuff.

Turns out trying to kill someone—twice now, let's not go for the hat trick—did, in fact, change your relationship.

“...Do you like spending time with me?” Akira asked finally, after he'd already downed his whole drink, not really tasting it.

Akechi seemed taken aback. “What kind of question is that?”

“I mean, once this is all over, and we don't have any reason to hang around each other any more, will you still want to spend time with me?”

As soon as that was out of his mouth, Akira regretted saying it. All that time spent thinking about what he was going to say, maybe apologizing, maybe saying something stern, maybe being sincere, maybe trying to be gentle, anything—and now here he was whining and making it all about himself.

“You know what—forget it.” Akira shook his head. “That's not what I came here to talk about.”

“What did you come here to talk about, then?” Akechi wasn't looking at him, just pushing his glass back and forth on the table.

Akira looked down at his own empty glass. Thought over the words he'd planned out. Thought, maybe this was dumb. But he didn't have anything else. “I...don't trust you. And I'm not even sure we're friends.” Akira was good at telling people what they wanted to hear. Was this what Akechi wanted to hear? “But I wish I did. I wish you could trust me. I wish we were friends.”

Akechi just kind of stared at him a moment, then laughed. “I'm not sure what I expected from you, but that wasn't it. Not gonna make some bold declaration of friendship, to try to get the bad and nasty Akechi Goro to open his heart to you and become a part of your little merry crew for real?”

There was so much venom in his tone, Akira couldn't help but wince. “Do you want me to do that?”

Akechi honestly seemed to consider that question. “Doesn't matter. It's not going to happen.”

“You avoided that question pretty neatly.”

Akechi didn't answer that, just pushed back his chair. “We've been here long enough. Unless you have something else to say?”

Akira didn't say anything, but when they walked out of the club, he grabbed Akechi's sleeve, tugging him back. “Come back to Leblanc,” he said, and Akechi smirked back at him.

“Yeah, I saw you looking thirsty.”

x x x

So they wound up in the attic at Leblanc again, not even with their shoes and jackets off before they had their hands on each other, lips and tongues battling in a feverish embrace. Akira unbuttoned Akechi's jacket, pulled him close, mouthing over his jaw to his ear, hitching his hands up under Akechi's shirt to stroke up his sides and back. He stayed like that a moment, and heard Akechi's long exhale close in his ear.

“Why are you suddenly being so gentle?” Akechi said, and his tone was cold.

“...I feel like it.”

Akechi grabbed Akira's wrist, wrenching his hand around and bringing it up to the scarf around his own neck. “Choke me.”

Akira pulled back to look at him. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes were flashing. He seemed just about ready to bite. Just the look always got him so hard.

Akira took a hold of the scarf around Akechi's neck, but he hesitated.

“I'm not going to break. Just do it.” And Akechi put his hands over Akira's, forcing them to pull.

But Akira had seen him break, hadn't he? He'd seen Akechi's eyes fill up with black as he screamed _I'll kill you I'll kill you I'll kill you_ —

He'd seen Akechi slam the button for that bulkhead like it was a relief. Because—

Because lots of things. Lots of things he couldn't even come close to understanding.

Akira's hands froze, and Akechi dropped them.

“Hit me,” Akechi said, voice tight, and when Akira didn't respond, his arm swung out, striking him across the face with a closed fist blow that nearly knocked Akira over.

Akira's response was half-reflex, honed through hundreds of battles in the Metaverse. He punched Akechi once in the jaw, then grabbed the shoulders of his shirt to bring a knee up into his gut, making his knees buckle, and he went to the floor.

Akechi wheezed out a half-laugh, pushing himself up to look at Akira. Then he tossed off his coat and scarf, peeled off his sweater vest. He'd tensed his gut at the last second—he was too used to getting hit, Akira couldn't wind him that easily. “That's more fucking like it,” he said with a wide grin.

Akira was too used to giving people what they wanted. In the end, he couldn't do anything else.

As Akira unbuckled his belt, Akechi got on his knees in front of him, leaning forward in anticipation. “Choke me with your cock,” he said, licking his lips. “Make me cry. And call me disgusting for getting off on it.”

Well. Akira had wanted Akechi to say what he wanted, hadn't he? He sure couldn't complain about this now. Be careful what you wish for.

“Is that what Shido did?” Akira said, the stupidest question of that night, and Akechi identified it as such.

“Shido didn't ask stupid questions, he just grabbed me by the hair and got on with it,” he said with a sneer.

So Akira did that.

Grabbing two fistfuls of Akechi's hair and shoved Akechi's face down onto his half-hard cock. Akira quickly grew to full hardness in his mouth as he bobbed over the length. Akira fucked back into him, feeling himself bottom out at the back of Akechi's throat, the squeeze of his gag reflex. Akechi's gloved hands grabbed at Akira's jeans and clung there, squeezing his eyes shut as Akira took control of everything.

The thought that maybe he was thinking of Shido right this minute made Akira unreasonably angry.

His hands tightened on Akechi's hair, and he forced Akechi's head down to the base, holding him there as his throat spasmed. Then he pushed Akechi off his dick, keeping a grip on his hair so he could get a good look at him. His eyes were watering a bit, but he wasn't crying. Akira wasn't sure he had ever successfully made Akechi actually cry—he wasn't sure what it took to get there. But his pants were blatantly tented as he choked and gasped, so Akira took that as a good sign.

“Disgusting whore,” Akira said. “You get like this, just from sucking my cock?” He had half a mind to step on Akechi's dick, but he wondered if that was going off-script. Last time, he'd had that thing about not touching his dick, so maybe there was something there.

Akira's mind was starting to travel down a nasty path, wondering exactly what Shido had done and how, wondering if he was doing it now just like Shido had, was that what Akechi wanted?

He didn't want to think about it, but he kept thinking about it.

When it looked like Akechi had caught his breath, Akira grabbed him again, forcing his cock between Akechi's lips.

“You make a pretty good cocksucker, if nothing else,” Akira muttered as his hips snapped into Akechi's mouth. He thought about the drunken man he'd run into that fateful evening over a year ago, about the Shadow Shido he'd seen in his palace. What sort of things had he been saying then? What sort of things would he say to a partner? Or victim, more like. Nothing good, clearly.

“You have practice with this, you slut?” Akira pushed Akechi's hair back so he could see his face. He always kept his eyes closed, and he was clinging to Akira's jeans again. “How many cocks have you blown? Just like your whore mother.”

It wasn't until a heartbeat later that Akira realized he'd probably gone too far. Panicking, he shoved Akechi off his dick, but Akechi was half-laughing as he gasped.

“That was pretty good,” Akechi said as he wiped the drool off his chin, “But Shido never said that. I guess he didn't want to give away that he knew.”

Akira stared down at him, still feeling way too rattled.

“Like I said,” Akechi stood up from the floor, undoing his belt to discard his pants and underwear together, then unbuttoning his dress shirt. “I'm not going to break. You can be a little mean.”

This was a little beyond _a little mean._

Akira took off his jacket and laid it over the sofa, then pulled off his turtleneck and folded it, setting it down beside the jacket before he turned around to ask, “Do you want me to break you?”

Akechi flopped back on the bed, stroking himself absently as he looked up at the ceiling. “Sure. That'd be hot.”

Akira didn't even know what to think anymore.

Taking off his pants, Akira came over to the bed, and Akechi wriggled up to lay against the pillow. Akira crawled up over him, started taking off his glasses, but Akechi grabbed his hand to stop him. “Keep them on.”

“...Would you prefer orange-tinted ones?”

“...You look better in these.”

Akira dove in and bit Akechi on the neck, on the spot he'd been eyeing all through their date (was it even a date?) at the jazz club. He really sunk his teeth in, going for blood—he wanted to make it visible above the collar, show fucking everyone in the world that Akechi Goro belonged to _him—_ yeah, that was a fantasy, but it felt real when Akechi was bringing up his knees to wrap around Akira's hips and grinding up against him, making a sound low in his throat as Akira sucked.

“Tie my wrists to the bed.” Akechi spoke at a murmur, but it sounded horribly loud in Akira's ear. “Fuck me without lube. And when I scream, stuff my tie in my mouth to gag me. Then show me...” He paused, exhaled, “how much I love getting fucked.”

Akira was going to get real fucked up if he thought too hard about this. He just got up, grabbed Akechi's tie from the pile of clothing on the floor, went to his desk to grab some rope he used for Phantom Thief business—this stuff wasn't rough or scratchy, it should be fine—and came back to kneel over Akechi, grabbing his wrists to wind the rope around them. Usually Akechi liked to struggle for this stuff, but he didn't, this time, just letting Akira tie him to the bars at the head of the bed as best he could without making it over-tight or so loose it wasn't convincing.

The spit on Akira's dick from the blowjob had dried off into stickiness, so Akira shoved his dick into Akechi's mouth again to wet it. “If you don't do a good job now, your ass is gonna be paying for it. I hope you can manage this much, at least,” he said, kind of hating himself for being such a goddamn good actor. Akechi slobbered dutifully over his cock, and Akira pulled out with a pop to back up, pushing Akechi's legs apart. Then before he could think too much about it, he shoved inside.

Akira did not like fucking without lube. It was something that could be done slowly and gently, but otherwise, it kind of felt like carpet burn on your dick, and he couldn't imagine how any guy who wasn't at least somewhat into pain could get off on it. But it had to be worse for the one taking it.

Akechi gasped when he entered, jaw clenching, and Akira could feel his whole body tensing. Akira shoved deeper, pausing a moment once he was in all the way. Then he set his jaw, gripped Akechi under the knees, and started fucking him in slow, sharp thrusts.

It was like each one rattled all the way up Akechi's body. He arched off the bed, whimpering with the intrusion, and as Akira sped up, he started wrenching against his bonds, twisting around, trying to pull away from Akira's cock, but Akira just pushed his knees wider as he slapped into Akechi's ass.

Usually Akechi would keep his mouth shut no matter what, but now he was crying out with each thrust, and Akira remembered what he'd said earlier.

“Shut up,” Akira barked at him. “You want everyone to hear you moaning like a whore?” Then he grabbed Akechi's tie from where he'd left it on the bedstand and shoved the whole thing into his mouth, reducing all his sounds to muffled moans.

He looked down to see Akechi's swollen cock bobbing against his stomach, dripping precum into his bellybutton.

“Look at how hard you are,” Akira said like he was disgusted. “Just from the ass. You really love this, don't you?”

But Akechi's eyes were squeezed shut, refusing to look.

“Look!” Akira lifted Akechi's ass up into the air and shoved his knees down over his chest, hovering over him so he was fucking straight down into Akechi's hole practically right in front of his face. “Watch yourself get fucked like the whore you are.” He reached one hand forward to pry open Akechi's eyelids, and Akira could see his eyes wandering down to where Akira was pumping in and out of him. Akira changed the angle slightly, and Akechi made a muffled noise around the gag, but Akira kept a hold on him by the hair, making sure he was watching.

“Are you going to cum just like this, you slut? You just love my cock that much, huh? I've never seen anyone else who loves getting fucked this much. You were born to take a dick in the ass.”

Akechi came so hard and so sudden, Akira couldn't help but gasp, his pace staggering as Akechi squeezed around him like a vise. Akira kept going, but at this point, his dick was feeling so raw, he just wanted it to end. He wasn't thinking so hard about what was coming out of his mouth anymore.

“Yeah, cum on my cock, cum for me, good boy, good boy...” he muttered, slowing into a gentler rock that wouldn't abuse his dick so much as he relaxed their position a bit, lowering Akechi's ass and sinking down over him to lean his head on Akechi's shoulder, giving himself a moment to settle down. He felt like he'd just escaped a mob of shadows and barely made it away with his life, and his heart was still hammering.

It took him a moment to notice that Akechi was trembling.

Akira shot up, and Akechi immediately turned his head away, but still tied down, he couldn't hide the tears streaking down the sides of his face. Akira immediately went to untie him, but when his hands were free, Akechi just brought them down to his chest and rolled over. He didn't even take the gag out of his mouth, biting into it like he wanted it to keep him silent.

Akira wasn't even sure if he should apologize—Akechi was the one who said to make him cry, to break him—Akira was the one who didn't want that. Not knowing what else to do, Akira just curled up behind him and hugged him close. Akechi made a half-hearted attempt to push him away, but Akira decided he was going to be selfish, just this once, and he grabbed the hand that tried to push him away by the wrist, just holding it there, rubbing circles over the palm with his thumb as he laid kisses on the back of Akechi's neck. For once, Akechi just let him do it.

Neither of them said anything else, though Akechi pulled his tie out of his mouth at some point, and it fell down in the gap between the bed and the wall.

Akira kept a hold on him until they fell asleep.

x x x

The next morning, Akira woke up scared that Akechi would be gone, then relaxed when he found him still there, asleep. Maybe he'd been more tired than he let on—he was totally out, even though the sun was well up. It was a Sunday, though, so he could afford to sleep in. Morgana wasn't there—he'd certainly seen, and Akira would probably have to explain himself, but that would come later.

For now, Akira just let himself drift between sleep and wakefulness, listening to the sound of Akechi breathing.

“Morning,” he said when Akechi stirred.

Akechi cracked one eye open, then shut it again. His hair was a mess, and that mark Akira had made on his neck the night was going purple. There was an apparent bruise on his cheek from where Akira had hit him the night before, too. Akira touched his own cheek, pressed it, and winced. They'd match.

“You should get up. It's almost eleven. I'll make you coffee.”

Akechi continued to pretend to be asleep.

“Well, if you want to lie here and cuddle more, I won't complain...”

Akechi immediately sat up, throwing his legs over the edge of the bed. “I feel disgusting. I can't believe I fell asleep without a shower.”

“Yeah, sorry.” Akira reluctantly slid out of bed as well, adjusting his glasses on his face. “I'll get some wet washcloths, at least...” He shrugged into his indoor clothes to go down to the washroom, then came back with some washcloths for a minimal sort of bath.

Akechi cleaned the crusted cum off his stomach, then wiped his ass, scrunching up the cloth before Akira could see if there had been any blood, using another to scrub his face. Then he went for his clothes on the floor, frowning at their slightly rumpled state as he attempted to comb down his hair with his hands. This was a guy who compulsively ironed his clothing and used way too much hair product, all right.

“Come down for coffee,” Akira said, and Akechi followed him downstairs without protest.

There were a couple of regulars in the cafe who looked up when they went past, and Sojiro gave them a, _do I want to know about those bruises?_ look from behind the counter, but didn't say anything as Akira circled behind the counter himself, put on an apron and washed his hands.

Akechi sat down in the seat that Akira had come to think of as his usual spot, for a while there, and waited as Akira made him a latte. They didn't really talk, and Akira didn't really feel like he could say anything anyway, with the customers and Sojiro here.

Akira set the cup and saucer down in front of him, and Akechi took a sip, his thick eyelashes hanging downward as he focused on the cup in his hands. He put down the cup with a clink. “Your lattes have gotten better,” he commented.

Akira just nodded, hiding a little smile by rubbing his nose with the back of his hand.

“It's worth coming here more often for them.” Akechi brought the cup to his mouth again. His face was hidden behind the cup, but there was something about his manner that reminded Akira of before, when Akechi had always put on fake smiles.

Akira wanted to believe this was real, though.

“Come anytime,” he replied.


End file.
